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Monochrome days were the norm. The sliver of violet shining through the rain-soaked streets weren’t welcomed into their world - a pansy showing off its luxurious colours, surely only there to look pretty in a windowsill, sensitive to the dark that encased Whitechapel. They dismissed him outright, save for Kent, entranced by the deepness of the hue as it blocked his view. Rich like cherries and blackberries, a well of wisdom for him to drink from, and crystal sharp features like amethyst for him to drink in.
The value changed as order was introduced. Deep indigo suits and blueberries to aid in insight. Kent found that he relied more and more on the integrity of the structure he provided, even as they descended into the ocean, deep, deep and deeper still, everything darkening around them as they thought their way to the bottom of the case.
The blue ink had fully dried, securing his position in the team. Quiet confidence channeled trust through their shared wavelength. Though the peace felt stagnant and the action had slowed to a glacial pace, the ice would soon melt, and the rushing of water would wash everything into the sea. Kent was caught in the undertow, frantically fighting against the currents, wounded, trying to hold on to his previously secure structure, crumbling beside him, trying to hold back his tears, flowing freely, until the weight became too much, and all around him was cold.
Fighting his way back to the surface, green algae stuck to his skin, it wasn’t a pretty sight. It wasn’t a pretty return, but he followed the go lights back to the station. The connection between them was verdigris. It was clear that time had aged it badly, but like plants in the shade reaching out for the sun, Kent kept clinging onto hope. What they had could be healed. Soothing tea brewed to his specifications, chalkboards filled to the brim with impeccable research, in return for words of appreciation. Kent could almost feel harmony returning, but his jaded heart caught him off balance, and soon everything verdant and lush around him stung with the same poisonous envy. Their clearing was overgrown with thorns and stinging nettles, and this time it was Kent’s fault. In his desperation for growth he’d tended to the wrong plants.
Autumn leaves carved a yellow path through the graveyard, matching the happiness and optimism that love provided the people around him. Concepts that were out of reach for Kent. They’d been locked away, left to fester and rot. When he looked inside, all he found was cowardice and egotism that clung to him. The sun wasn’t visible anymore, nor was the golden hair that invoked such longing and contempt, when they had once provided warmth. Sweet honey contrasting with bitter lemons.
But the sun didn’t stay away forever. Orange coloured the world around them. Warm shades that reheated team spirits. Shaking off the rust, they rediscovered communication. Small but still significant in its way. A slice of encouragement, a small fire ignited. The first spark. A dawning realization that sometimes, if the hue isn’t right, you are allowed to use your own dye. Bright marigold, the amber hue of drinks offered. Of drinks accepted. Of the warmth radiating through Kent’s body, as the colour intensified, a final warning before- the colour of an explosion as everything came crashing down around them again, the hope of affection buried beneath rubble and impatience.
Crimson red was the blood that ran cold. Lifeblood drained from his face as Kent was unable to help, held back by the stop sign stabbed through his heart. Get back up. Get angry. Get back up. You’re in danger down there. In danger of getting lost. Of drowning. Freezing cold. Never seeing the sun again. You don’t want this. You don’t want this! No matter how much he felt this, if he didn’t find his courage to tell him, to take action, it was bound to happen. Braving flaming hot coals, fearing fiery retaliation, he took his chance. He took his hand. Fragile like a poppy, their connection wasn’t one to be plucked and put anywhere else. It grew in the field where it stood and was all the more beautiful for it, braving wind and weather, facing whatever came their way, and soon their field was ablaze with field flowers of affection, magma burning bright in their embrace, strawberries in the sweetness on their lips.